8 A WORD AT THE START. 



thrifty son, who bought other lands, built boats, and died 

 early of grief, because the breaking out of the Revolution 

 spoiled his plans. The predecessors of my ancestors, as 

 possessors of the soil, merit a moment's attention. These 

 dusky-skinned natives were greatly attached to the neigh- 

 borhood, and the abundance of their handiwork in stone 

 still testifies to their prolonged occupancy of the country. 

 Not only are there hundreds of their relics on every acre, 

 but there is also a fragmentary tradition that, not far from 

 my door-yard, Oconio-coco-coco-cadgi-cadgi-cadonko had 

 his wigwam ; and not far off, under an enormous white- 

 oak, fought single-handed with the fiercest of cougars, 

 long the terror of the neighborhood, and slew him with 

 a flint knife. Oconio's grave is supposed to be quite 

 near, but I have never sought to disturb his bones, 

 much as I would like to have them, nor have I even 

 looked for a wonderful stone pipe that was buried with 

 him. Perhaps it is all true. I accept it as such, be- 

 cause it is pleasant to recall the story, as told me nearly 

 forty years ago. I have often tried to determine, in 

 various ways, how long these Indians roamed along 

 this terrace and over these fields and meadows, but 

 have not as yet reached a satisfactory conclusion. That 

 they were here for a long time can not be questioned, 

 and even now, so long after their departure, the traces 

 of their former presence lends a charm to our quiet 

 rambles ; for, whenever we happen upon bare ground, 

 the chances are that we shall see an arrow - head, and 

 what a wealth of pleasing fancies even a single arrow- 

 head may bring up! How many possible occurrences 

 may be connected with this bit of chipped jasper ! So it 

 is, indeed, the country over ; and often an unsuspected 

 mine of pleasure is lying exposed to the gaze of those 

 who, walking abroad, see nothing and learn nothing. 



